


Perspective

by areticentreader



Category: Original Work
Genre: Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areticentreader/pseuds/areticentreader
Summary: What is the first thing you notice about someone? Perhaps it is what that person becomes to you.





	1. No One {extended summary

**{ extended • summary }**

What is the first thing you notice about someone?

It could be her pensive expression as she actually stops to smell the roses or her shocked silence as she walks out of the café or her distant gaze as she sits by the river. Maybe it's her solemn face as she pays her respects or her joyless smile as she hums a familiar tune or her limp body as she hangs from the noose.

Perhaps it is what she becomes to you.

(an anthology of oneshots centered around her; each written from a different perspective)

* * *

**{ epigraph }**

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.  
{Elie Wiesel}

**{ dedication }**

Here's to the ones who care far too little in hopes that they become people who care far too much. The world needs more caring.

**{ acknowledgements }**

Thanks to God, first and foremost as always; to friends who've helped me along the way; and to the readers who read the first version, which, despite being so much fun to write and actually decent for my style back then, was still sore on the eyes, so here I am with a hopefully better version.

And lastly, thanks to Hails for making me feel horrible about my writing and the fact that I used the word "laugh" so often in the third chapter. I admit that I've been obsessing over your few careless comments, and I've decided now that enough is enough. I'm not letting your brash personality bother me anymore. I'm finally editing the "most depressing thing you've ever read." It's still going to be depressing—maybe even more so—but at the very least it's going to be decent writing. _That_ was what I was asking you for help with as a fellow writer, but obviously we have different goals as writers. I want to improve my craft, not just talk about it.

**{ warning }**

» character death (if you didn't guess by the summary), specifically suicide  
» angst  
» other depression/suicide triggers, maybe?

* * *

**{ preface }**

Hopefully you all enjoy reading this version as much as the first. There isn't actually much in terms of plot (haha, what plot?) that is different, but I've fleshed out the point-of-views a little more. I'm trying to make the narrators as realistic as possible; they fell flat as characters in the original. Also, I'm trying to emphasize the actual theme of this anthology a little more. (See the epigraph for the theme.)

For those who are reading this for the first time, don't expect much continuity. The story is very disconnected, but this is because I wanted to try writing about one person from completely different perspectives. I hope this doesn't irritate any of you. I really love this anthology no matter what anyone says, so I hope you do, too.


	2. First Impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was the first thing you noticed about her?

I stood up from my seat on the bench, taking in the crisp winter air with a deep breath. I had all the time in the world before I had to meet with my mother to discuss everything that went wrong with my education and career, and I planned to enjoy every moment. No one, not even my tyrant of a mother, could rob that from me.

The watch on my wrist told me that the time was just past nine. I grinned. There was enough time to enjoy a hearty breakfast at the local diner and then aimlessly walk around more. I began walking at a leisurely pace to where my pancakes and eggs would be waiting for me.

Try as I might, I couldn't stop my thoughts from wandering to the catastrophes that were my grades. My mother was sure to be furious that I hadn't even tried in all four of my classes last semester and allowed myself to fail, but the truth was that I didn't care for any of them. I didn't have the passion for business; I didn't even want to be a business major. Instead, I wanted to earn a degree in graphic design, but my mother—

My thoughts came to a sudden halt when I bumped into someone as I rounded a corner. My eyes widened as they followed the small bouquet of white flowers falling to the ground. Startled by the sudden encounter, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the flowers until the person I had collided with picked them up and held them to her nose with a wistful look on her face.

"At least the flowers are fine," she murmured, lowering the bouquet and shyly looking up at me.

"Uh, yeah, they're very beautiful," I somehow managed to sputter, my tongue still thick with shock.

She smiled, her expression still melancholy. "Yet they bear such a tragic meaning."

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. "Well, uh," I stammered. "I'm meeting someone, uh, soon, so I'll be on my way," I lied through a forced smile, moving past her without bothering to glance back.

Walking at a brisk pace, I cursed myself mentally for my inability to hold a proper conversation, but I was already dreading one later with my own mother. I didn't see the point in making myself suffer through an unexpected one with a stranger.

Once I crossed the street, I let myself slow down, trying to calm all of my jittery nerves. I was going to have a nice breakfast all to myself, not worrying about anything but enjoying myself. Until the time that I was supposed to meet my mother, I didn't owe an ounce of attention to anyone but myself.


	3. Second Chance

I had only wanted to drink my coffee in peace and quiet. Fortunately, my husband had taken the kids to go see a movie, which allowed for a few hours of tranquility on my end. I had intended to fully enjoy it in a small café, watching the hustle and bustle as the rest of the world passed me by.

That was until the manager had begun to scream at one of the employees. The few choice words that were shrieked at an inhuman volume seemed to be the extent of the manager's vocabulary, and I was glad that the kids were gone because I wanted to cover my own ears. I almost turned away in hopes that the manager's verbal abuse would end, but the employee's reaction captured my attention.

Her silence in response to the manager's screams was deafening. I couldn't see her face, nor could I imagine the expression that might have been on it. I could only watch her back as she nodded along with whatever the manager was bellowing.

It was odd to see her acceptance of everything without even an attempt to defend herself. She could have said something to try to pacify the manager's anger. She could have yelled back with just as much intensity to call the manager out on the verbal abuse. She could have done so many things, but in the end, all she did was walk out the door when the manager pointed and ordered her to.

I made a mental note to never let my kids work here.


	4. Third Time

Mommy said I could play with Khin until it was time for dinner, and then I would have to eat all of my peas.

I saw him walking on the sidewalk and ran to catch up. "Hey, Khin!" I said.

He turned to me and smiled. "Hi!"

"You wanna go to the river and play?" I asked. "Mommy said that I could play until dinner, but then I have to eat my peas."

He scrunched up his nose. "Gross!"

I nodded. "I know. But you wanna go play?"

He smiled again. "Yeah! I'll race you!" he yelled and started running.

"That's not fair!" I ran, too.

When we got to the river, there was a weird girl sitting on the grass. She was throwing rocks into the river and staring at the sun. Mommy told me never to do that because it would hurt my eyes.

"Hey, that's cool!" Khin yelled, and he ran to her. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him, smiling. There was something weird about her smile, but then she smiled at me when I got closer. "I'm skipping rocks. Wanna join me?"

"Uh-huh," I said and nodded. "How do you do that?"

She laughed a little and patted the grass next to her. "Come and sit."

Khin sat on her left, and I sat on her right. I picked up a rock and threw it into the water. "Like that?" I asked.

She laughed again. "No, it needs to bounce off the water. More like this." She tossed a rock, and it bounced three times.

"Cool!" Khin yelled, and he picked up a rock and threw it, too. It didn't bounce.

"Here, I'll teach you." She tried to teach us, but it was too hard.

Khin crossed his arms and pouted. "I don't like skipping rocks!"

She laughed. Maybe she was always laughing. Mommy said that a person who laughed a lot was pretty, and I should say so.

"You're pretty."

She turned to me quickly and laughed again. "Thank you. What are your names?"

"I'm Khin!"

"I'm Semyon."

She nodded. "Nice to meet you, Khin, Semyon. I think you two should probably go home now because it's getting dark."

I looked at the almost-gone sun. "Mommy said that I could play with Khin before dinner, but then I have to eat all the peas." I stuck my tongue out because peas made me want to throw up.

She laughed. "Then you'd better get home soon."

Khin got up. "Will you be here tomorrow? I wanna play some more!"

She only smiled this time, and there was still something weird about her smile. Something sad. "Who knows? Now go home before you get in trouble!"

We said goodbye and raced all the way home. Mommy told me to hurry and wash my hands because it was time to eat dinner. I wanted to tell Mommy about the weird girl at the river with the sad smile. But first, I needed to eat my peas.


	5. Fourth Horseman

I laid the single daffodil in front of the headstone, trying and failing to blink the tears away. She was supposed to live a long life. She was supposed to go on and be successful. She was never supposed to die.

It had been my fault. If only I had told her where I was going. If only I had stayed home that night. If only I had never been born.

She had died a year ago. The most perfect girl in the world had been dead for a year already. Somehow, the world managed without such a godlike creature for a year. A year had already passed, yet I knew what people were still saying about it.

" _I can't believe she died."_ No one could, really. The concept of death was impossible to truly fathom, even if someone close to you experienced it, even if you could reach out and touch it.

" _What's more, I can't believe that it was she who died, not her sister."_ If I could have traded places with her, I would. There was never a day during which I didn't think that I'd rather die than live without her.

" _It's such a tragedy."_ The world had always been full of tragedies. However, her death had never been a tragedy. It was the end of everything before her. The world could never be the same without her.

Through my blurry vision caused by my tears, I managed to catch a glimpse of the outstretched handkerchief. I took it without so much as a thanks or even a glance at whoever was offering it to me. There were far more important things to focus on at that moment, such as how my sister's death as all my fault.

"She would never have blamed you."

I could have laughed at that. I could have asked her how she could have possibly known that everything was my fault. I could have denied it. The fact was, I could have done so much, but I never did.

I don't know how much longer I stayed there. After all, everyone's perception of time is flawed. No one ever really knew how much time was left; everyone always believed they just had a little more. They were always wrong. When I finally looked up to leave, however, I saw her.

She was wrong. If the tortured look on her face meant anything, then there was no one to blame but ourselves.


	6. Fifth Harmony

The voicemail.

Almost my whole life spent in that house trying to bridge the gap between my parents, and all of the effort I spent, all of the blood I shed, and all of the tears I cried had come down to one minute-long voicemail of my father asking for money to fund their divorce. I didn't know why they hadn't gotten it much sooner. They'd been arguing since I was young, and their arguments had smoldered into silence years before I moved out of that house.

The silence.

It unnerved me, and perhaps that was because I'd lived in silence for years due to my parents' falling out. I'd moved to a big city just to hear the constant hustle and bustle of everyone living their lives and to avoid even one moment of silence that would bring all the memories and the pain of living with my parents flooding back until I was completely consumed by them, dragged under the surface by a riptide that I wouldn't have been able to avoid even if I'd tried.

The suffocation.

Even now, I was still as cornered as I was in my parents' house, destined to a life in which I was forever avoiding my past. I was constantly moving toward a future in which I would finally be free, but somehow the past would chase me and catch up to me. I couldn't even hold on to the precious little moments of fleeting happiness that were few and far between for fear of the darker memories lurking about. Sometimes I missed the good bits of my past, but that longing was never strong enough to make me want to go back.

The song.

The haunting melody startled me as a girl and I walked past each other. She offered me a smile that was filled with nothing but emptiness, void of everything a smile was supposed to contain. I returned it with a similarly empty smile because I had no happiness to fill it with. I only had a broken life and a broken future and a broken heart to offer, and I didn't think anyone would accept those gifts. So, as most people do, I continued on my way with a lifetime of sadness weighing me down.


	7. Sixth Sense

I rolled my eyes at the unintelligible sobbing echoing from the woods as I climbed out of my car. I had hoped for a peaceful and quiet morning, but that was obviously not going to be the case.

My training officer grumbled as I approached, "Took you long enough to get here."

I shrugged. "I was on the other side of town, so sue me." The truth was, I stopped for coffee. In a small town such as this one, there was rarely a need to rush on scene. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"Anyway," he continued on in that annoying, wheedly voice of his, "I've already taken a look at the scene. The coroner's preliminary report should be along pretty soon, but you can take a look at the body if you want." He jerked a thumb at the trees.

I shrugged again. "Might as well."

"I know nothing's ever certain, but everything points to suicide," he answered, even though I didn't ask, as I followed him deeper into the woods. "No signs of struggle at all."

"That'll make our job much easier, then," I answered, wishing he would just stop talking. I would have asked for someone else to work with, but the problem was that we were the only two detectives in town. I was looking to transfer bigger city with more interesting crimes to investigate, but I was stuck with him for the time being.

"It's sad, too. She was only a young girl." I don't think he ever learned the definition of silence, much less the value of it.

I responded with just a nod.

He stayed silent as we approached the body, an answer to my prayers. I only spent a moment to glance at her body, hanging limply from a noose tied to a tree. Her facial expression was oddly serene, as if she didn't mind—loved, even—the fact that she was dead.

"Suicide, all right," I commented. At the look on my superior's face, I quickly added, "But we have to wait for the coroner's report to be sure, of course." His expression relaxed. I heard the incessant wailing once again and turned to it. "Who's crying?"

He turned in the same direction and answered, "The young boy who found the body hasn't stopped sobbing since before I arrived. From what I gathered, it seems the noose was his. He was planning on committing suicide when the girl stepped in and convinced him otherwise. From the looks of it, she had planned to do the exact same thing."

"Weird that she would stop him but not herself." I faced my partner with a smile. "So, do you think you can handle the rest?"

He cocked an eyebrow, incredulous. "This is important for your training—"

"I've got something I need to get to soon," I cut in sharply.

He took a moment to think. "Yeah," he replied, shaking his head, "I can take care of it. All I need to do is wait until the body is moved to the morgue for further examination and get the boy to the station to calm him down for further questioning."

"Sounds like a plan." I gave him a curt wave as I returned to my car. I had better things to do than to stare at a dead girl's body or babysit a suicidal brat. With a hearty breakfast calling to me that morning, I felt no need to see more dead people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps it was what she became to you.


End file.
